Mine
by Jaiaelle
Summary: "I'm going to need you to give that back now."  QA angst.  Written for the Quartie ficathon.
1. 1

_Author's Note: Writing angst is not necessarily fun...but I did it, as I told others I would. Please read and review!_

_Prompt: "I'm going to need you to give that back now."_

**_Mine_**

They were on the front lawn. Her standing, him sitting in his chair. Neither could look the other in the eye. Shifting, Quinn felt the wet grass beneath her bare feet, an ant crawling over her toe, the sun beating down upon her head and knew what she had to say.

"I'm going to need you to give that back now."

Twisting the small bit of sewn together fabric in his hands, Artie shook his head. "No. I c-can't, Quinn. Please, don't take this from me."

"It's_ mine_," she reminded him firmly, bending forward at the waist, as if to take it from him.

Sadly, he turned his eyes to the handkerchief with QF stitched in the right hand corner. Lifting it to his nose, he breathed, inhaling the scent that was her. Jasmine, apples and something else that he had never been able to describe. "You gave it to me on our first date, remember?"

"Do you?" she snipped back, shoving strands of blonde hair away from her face. "Do you remember any of it, Artie? And if you do, does it mean anything?"

"Of course it does!" he exploded, drawing gasps from the staring neighbors. "I love you. I love you, Quinn! And everything that happened was a misunderstanding. That's all. Just, please, listen -"

"No," she hissed, stubbornness and pride preventing her from hearing what he wanted to say. "You listen. You kissed another woman. And not just any woman! Her! I want you to leave. Okay? Leave. How many times do I have to tell you? I never want to see you again." The lump that had been forming in her throat suddenly dissolved as the tears sprang forth. "Maybe this is what I deserve. I cheated on Finn all those years ago and this is like karma or whatever."

Rolling forward, he attempted to take her hand but she slapped it away, the sting of what that meant metaphorically hurting much more than the physical blow. "You don't deserve it. You deserve…better. You deserve the best and, honestly, I don't think that exists, not for you. I…want you to forgive me, Quinn, I want you to take me back but, at the same time, I know leaving is best. You'll find the perfect guy for you, one who won't break your heart." Gulping, he pushed himself away, not realizing that he had started to cry too. "But I want you to know that she kissed me. I pulled away right after. We had just been talking. I was upset because of the fight you and I had gotten into and had been drinking a little and she's my friend. But Santana kissed me, Quinn, and I did not kiss back. I'm sorry you thought that, I'm sorry you didn't believe me." He could feel himself growing angry and almost didn't care. "And this!" he went on, waving the handkerchief. "Is _mine_! I'm keeping it. If I can't be with you, then I want something…something…" The sentence was lodged in his throat, not able to escape. It was choking him.

Whole body shaking, Quinn started to retreat to the house, retrieving the handkerchief from him the last thing on her mind. She had seen Artie's face crumble, a visible symbol of their relationship. Going backwards up the ramp, she allowed her eyes to flash in his direction, the hazel meeting the blue. "Goodbye, Artie," she whispered, fleeing inside and slamming the door behind her.

He knew she was watching her through the window, watching as he maneuvered his way into the car, watching as he backed up, watching as he drove away. A part of him thought she'd stop him.

That part of him was wrong.

Because she didn't.


	2. 2

_Author's Note: I really couldn't leave it as a one shot so here is part two. _

**_Mine_**

Days and nights blended together until Artie could hardly tell them apart. His couple of days off at work became a week. Food he viewed as a necessity, only eating enough in the morning or afternoon or middle of the night, whenever he woke up, to sustain himself. Other than that, he lived off the small bottles of alcohol in the hotel's mini fridge, not caring that he was accruing quite the debt.

Santana came over once. "Cut your losses," she told him. "You're better off without her."

"Go away," he grumbled.

"Come on, Wheels." Moving beside him, she ran a hand down his chest. "I could help you get over her."

The room was starting to spin, circles and circles around him or him around it. He wasn't sure. "She hated when you called me that."

The name formed on Santana's lips, directed at Quinn, and fell without ceremony. Hatred enveloped him and he glared, attempted to sit up. "Get out. This is how the whole mess started in the first place. When Quinn and I were having problems and you suggested drinking so we drank and then you kissed me."

Real feeling flashed behind her eyes. "Sorry," she said, stiffly. "I didn't mean for this to happen but it could be an opportunity for us-"

The words rushed out bitterly and Artie didn't even make an attempt to stop them. "You're not her."

Then she was gone. Artie had a feeling he might never see her again but all he could think about was Quinn. He fell asleep with his head on the pillow and her handkerchief clutched to his chest.

"_Mine_," he whispered.

She felt like a robot as she went through the week, coming home to an empty house, curling up on an empty bed. Tears always formed but never fell. It was difficult not to call him, text him, email him, difficult to go without any contact at all.

Matt came over once. "Eat some pie," he encouraged. "My uncle's specialty."

But she didn't feel like eating. For Matt's sake, because he appeared to be so worried, she took a few small bites. "It's good," she murmured, head pounding. Or maybe it was her heart. Though she wondered if her heart could still create a rhythm like that, since she was sure it wasn't quite as whole as it once had been.

"Quinnie…you either need to move on or talk to him." Warm fingers circled her wrist. "You can't live like this for much longer."

She didn't respond and eventually he left.

Hours later, she awoke, drenched in sweat, a cry on her lips. "Artie!" In the darkness, she touched her fingers to the gold band on her right ring finger, then lay back, gasping. She didn't realize she was sobbing until she saw that her pillow was wet. Removing the ring, she squeezed her hand around it and whispered, "_Mine_."

Two days later, Artie got a text that read, "Come home." He didn't waste any time.

She was waiting on the porch when he arrived and he slowly wheeled himself up the ramp. Neither said anything. Then, swiftly, she took the handkerchief sitting in his lip and handed him her wedding band. He stared at the golden circle in his hand, not sure what to do, to think. He hadn't thought it possible that his heart could break even more but, in that moment, it did.

"Artie."

The sound of her voice pierced him through but he still managed, somehow, to lift his eyes. There was her hand, in front of his face, ring finger extended and wiggling. His breath caught in his throat and, with deliberate movements, he slid the ring on her finger. Once done, she folded the handkerchief and gave it back to him. Without hesitation, he took it, held on to it tightly.

Half closing her eyes, she moved aside, moonbeams lighting up a path to the inside of the house.

As if following them, Artie wheeled over the thresh hold.

Once he was in, Quinn half smiled at him then softly shut the door, locking out the moonbeams and everything else. So that it was just them.

In the stillness, Quinn whispered, "My heart, it's always been yours."

"And _mine_," he whispered back, interlocking their fingers. "Has always been yours."


End file.
